I hear movement in the hay. Tomasetti hears it, too, and he jerks the beam left. Salome emerges from behind a tall stack of hay. She’s wearing the blue dress but no stockings or shoes. Her brown hair billows about her shoulders. Her kapp hangs around her neck. She doesn’t meet my gaze, but the guilt on her face is unmistakable.
Shock is like a silent shotgun blast. The concussion pushes me back a step. I stare at her bare feet. I don’t want to acknowledge the thoughts prying into my brain. Ugly thoughts that offend some deeply ingrained sense of morality. Thoughts that affront me with the wrongness of what I see, what I feel in my heart.
Holstering his weapon, Tomasetti steps toward her. “What are you doing out here with him?”
Salome steps back and mutters something unintelligible.
Shaking his head in a gesture that looks like disgust, he shines the light on the floor. The beam stops on the scrap of white fabric lying on a bale of hay next to the blanket. Another layer of shock rattles my brain. Panties. Salome’s panties. I stare at them, aware of the pound of rain on the tin roof, matching the hard pound of my own heart.
The next thing I know, Tomasetti crosses to Mose. “What the hell were you doing with her?”
“We were just talking.”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
A dozen alarms jangle in my head. “Tomasetti,” I warn.
He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even acknowledge me. Every ounce of his attention is on Mose. “That girl is your sister!” he shouts.
Mose looks down at the ground.
Tomasetti shines the light on Salome. “How old are you?” he demands.
“F-fifteen.” Her voice is little more than a chirp.
“Fifteen?” He gives Mose a dark look, then turns back to the girl. “Did he force you?”
“No!”
Tomasetti’s mouth twists. He doesn’t believe her. Or maybe he doesn’t want to believe her. I see him grinding his teeth. He turns to Mose. “Do you think she’s old enough to be out here with you like this?”
“I don’t—”
“How could you disrespect her like that? How could you disrespect yourself?”
Mose gulps. “I—”
He doesn’t have time to finish the sentence. Lunging at him, Tomasetti clamps his hand around the back of the boy’s neck, shoves him toward the ladder. “Get your goddamn ass down there.”
Mose stumbles, regains his footing, and shoots a nasty glare at Tomasetti. “Don’t do that again.”
“Or what? What are you going to do, you perverted little shit?” Tomasetti thrusts a finger toward the ladder. “Get down that ladder before I throw you down.” The muscles in his jaw work as he crosses to me, hands me the flashlight. I see him pulling himself back. “Get her dressed and come on.”
“Calm down.” I make eye contact with him as I take the flashlight. “He’s a minor.”
“I know what he is,” he grinds out.
I watch them descend the ladder, then I direct the flashlight beam toward Salome. She’s sitting on a bale of hay with her head down, sobbing. She holds her kapp in one hand, her panties in the other. Shit, I think, and go to her.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods but doesn’t look at me.
I shine the light on the panties in her hand. “You need to get dressed, so we can go.”
She raises her face to mine. Tears glisten on her cheeks. Her nose is running, but she doesn’t bother to wipe away the snot. “I can’t go down there. I can’t face them.”
“Yes, you can,” I say firmly. “Get dressed.”
Rising, she turns her back to me and steps into her panties, tugs them up. Then she looks down at her kapp and begins to wail. “Why is he so mad?” she chokes out.
“You know it’s wrong for you to be out here like this with Mose, don’t you?”
Plopping down on a bale of hay, she puts her face in her hands. “You don’t understand.”
“He’s your brother,” I say. “You’re only fifteen. You shouldn’t be doing this.”
“We weren’t doing anything wrong,” she says, pulling her hair into a ponytail.
“How can you say that?” When she doesn’t respond, I touch her chin, force her gaze to mine. “How long has this been going on?”
She looks away, shrugs. “A few months.”
“Have you had sex with him?”
Her silence is the only answer I need. The thought of incest repulses me. It makes me angry and sad, maybe because I don’t know how to help. I don’t know if they can be helped. What’s done is done, and there are some things you can’t take back.
“This can’t continue,” I say. “It’s wrong. You know that, right?”
She raises her gaze to mine. She’s so young and pretty, so innocent. The loss of that innocence, so fleeting and precious, makes me want to cry. “You don’t know everything,” she says.
Something inside me goes still, and suddenly I realize she’s going to throw something unexpected at me. “What are you talking about?”
She raises her head and begins to work at the knot on the tie of her kapp. “I can’t tell you,” she sobs. “It’s too terrible. I can’t tell anyone.”
“Tell me what?” I watch her, waiting.
She works at the knot, but her hands are shaking so violently, she can’t manage to untie it. Finally, I take the kapp from her and loosen the knot.